


Dancing in a Dance Club

by tinsnip



Category: Deep Dish Nine - Fandom, Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: Alternate Universe, Boundaries, Conversation, Dancing, Deep Dish Nine, M/M, Pre-Relationship, courting, frothy, learning about each other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-23
Updated: 2013-02-23
Packaged: 2017-12-03 08:27:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,874
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/696290
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tinsnip/pseuds/tinsnip
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Julian Bashir needs to unwind, and the best way he knows how is to go dancing. Elim Garak gets dragged along. Frothy, my goodness!</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dancing in a Dance Club

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Lady Yate-Xel](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=Lady+Yate-Xel).



> Set in the Deep Space Nine alternate universe, Deep Dish Nine, where DS9 is a pizzeria. It's a long story. Check out <http://deep-dish-nine.tumblr.com/> for more details. It's so adorable, really...
> 
> Salient points: all non-Human races are Humans, all home planets are now small countries or states, depending whether you're part of a Federation/Empire/Union or not, and this is set approximately now.
> 
> Lady Yate-xel, this one just has to be for you. I hope you like it.
> 
> Thanks also to the Northern Pikes and their fantastic live version of "Dancing in a Dance Club", which inspired this particular bit of madness.

He had a handful of sleeve and a mouthful of pins when his phone went _bedeep._

Garak ignored it; this was delicate, and he wanted the shape to be just so - carefully he placed a pin -

_Bedeep._

Well, there went his concentration. He dropped the sleeve, letting it hang loosely on the dummy, pressed his lips around the pins so that none would fall, and dug for his phone in his pants pocket. There were very, very few people who had his contact information; he was almost hesitant to look at the screen -

**garak?**  
 **garak r u busy?**

Ah, it was Julian. Even without the contact name, he would've known; Julian was the only person who texted him with total disregard for the rules of grammar and capitalization. He was also the only person whose texts gave him that tingling feeling in his fingertips, quite deliberately ignored.

 **Working. What would you like?** He didn't want to be rude, but he was rather in the middle of something. _And fawning is inappropriate._

The reply came back right away.

**what r u doing tonight?**

Garak's brows rose. Well, this he could take time for. _Is he going to ask me out, for a change?_ They'd been out on "dates" together, oh, more than a few times now, always at Garak's prompting; lots of talking, lots of laughing, very little touching, sadly, but this was promising, this was perhaps a step forward... He tapped the phone's screen.

**I have no plans. What do you suggest?**

_Bedeep._

**come dancing w me**

Hmm. A step forward, perhaps; unfortunately, in entirely the wrong direction.

**Sorry, I don't dance.**

He hoped that wasn't too off-putting. He sucked gently on the pins and waited for a reply.

**that's too bad bc i would really like to see u**

_Oh._ A little shiver in Garak's stomach - _stop it_ \- but this was definitely new. It should be encouraged. He tapped out an answer.

**Why not get together for coffee?**

**sorry tonight i am going dancing**

_Hmm._ Well, that was very definite, especially for Julian, who usually seemed gently amenable to any plans Garak wanted to suggest. _Almost any. Stop it._ Well, tonight was Friday, and that left Saturday, and perhaps -

**How about Saturday?**

**no i have to study**  
 **on sunday too**  
 **so if u don't want to go dancing i guess i'll see u next week**

Um. Well, _that_ certainly wasn't the desired result. Absently, he probed the pins with his tongue, and pondered a weekend without hazel eyes and clever discussion; his fingers moved on their own.

**Where are you going dancing?**

_Bedeep._

**does it matter?**

_Damn it._

**Very well. I'll come with you.**  

**thought u might ;)**

That pulled a chuckle out of him, unexpected, and he almost lost his pins; he shook his head at himself. _Bedeep,_ another message -

**meet me in front of the apts at 10**

Ten o'clock? The phone currently said 4:48 PM; really, ten o'clock? Garak was usually bedding down around that time. He frowned a little.

**Sorry, 10 tonight?**

**yes if u can stay up that late**

_Oh, really._

**I'll see you then.**

* * *

Garak waited outside the door of the small block of apartments, bouncing lightly on his toes. He buried his gloved hands in his pockets, and huddled just a little against the cold. The snow crunched under him with each little bounce. The winter night was cold; the amber glow of streetlights and the headlights of cars on the busy street illuminated tiny, dancing snowflakes, almost too small to see until the light picked them out. _It's freezing out. I should have brought a scarf._

He looked over at the little plaza next to the apartments; he saw the lights of Deep Dish Nine and the glow of its neon sign, garish and welcoming. The parking lot was full; it looked freshly shovelled, and Mr. O'Brien was out salting the sidewalk in front of the business, prudent as always. He looked up, saw Garak watching, offered a sort of half-wave. Garak nodded back, politely. _Must maintain good relations with the neighbours._ _Especially that one._ O'Brien was friends with Julian, he knew, and Garak was quite certain that he wasn't a tremendous fan of their gradually elongating string of dates.

He smiled his nicest smile. _See? Harmless._ O'Brien's face went very blank, and he started salting the sidewalk again, pointedly not looking up. _Hmm. Well, I tried._

"Oh, hey, Garak! Sorry, have I kept you waiting long?"

Oh, a little thrill of adrenaline, his heart skipping a beat in the most _trite_ way, honestly - he turned to Julian, just coming through the door, and smiled. "Not at all, Julian; I just arrived myself."

Ah, so this was Julian decked out for dancing, was it? He was wearing what looked to be a t-shirt - a purple t-shirt with an orange motif - _really?_ \- and dark jeans, loose around his long legs, and sneakers, honestly, white tennis sneakers in the snow; over this he'd thrown a very light leather jacket, beat-up and not at all adequate for the weather.

"Julian, you are going to freeze."

Julian rolled his eyes, puffed air; his breath was visible, misty in the glow of the streetlights. "We're going dancing, Garak; we're not going to be outside for long. I'll be fine. Anyway, it's not even all that cold." He jammed his hands in his pockets, looked away, being cool. _Right. Well, it's his funeral._

"Come on, let's get a cab." Julian stepped into the snow, crunching across the little lawn over to the plaza parking lot; there were always a few cabs there, waiting outside Quark's for whatever drunken patrons might stumble their way. Garak followed him, placing his feet delicately in Julian's footprints, trying to keep his own feet as dry as possible.

"A cab? Is it far?"

"Far enough that I don't want to walk it."

"Where are we going, anyway?"

"A bar near the university. It's called Risa." Julian picked his way carefully across the ice built up over the concrete parking lot barriers, slipped and just caught himself; Garak grabbed his arm, steadied him as he found his footing, did _not_ think about the lovely, lightly-muscled arm beneath the leather sleeve. Julian nodded thanks, flashed a smile at him _._

"Is it a student bar?" Garak pointed to one of the cabs; Julian shrugged, _sure,_ and they angled towards it.

"Not really. All kinds go there. Even some profs, so you'll fit in fine." _Hmm. Thanks, I think._ Garak wasn't quite sure how to take that one. _Should I be reassured or worried?_

"Oi! Julian!" O'Brien had seen them working their way over; he waved a mittened hand at Julian and smiled broadly.

Julian smiled back. "Miles, hi!"

"Where're you headed?"

"Going out."

O'Brien was still smiling, but the glance he threw Garak's way was just a touch chilly. "Out with him?" _Brr, and I thought I was cold before!_

Julian's smile changed, subtly; his brows twitched up. "Yes. Out with Garak." His tone was testy, suggesting this was well-travelled ground.

"Uh huh. Well, have fun. Don't do anything I wouldn't do." Oh, his tone was so genial, and Garak just couldn’t resist -

"Then how is he supposed to have any fun?" He smiled innocently; Julian, beside him, made a very strange noise. O'Brien frowned, and ducked back into the pizza parlour; for a moment, jazz blared out into the night, cutting off abruptly as the door swung shut.

Julian's face was stern, but his lip was twitching; Garak could tell he was suppressing a smile. "Don't tease Miles."

 _I want to lure that smile out._ Garak blinked, and smiled as devilishly as he could. "Then how am _I_ supposed to have any fun?"

Oh, there it was - Julian not only smiled, he laughed, quite against his will if his expression was to be believed. _Hah!_ Victory was sweet. "I'm sure we'll figure something out. Come on, let's go."  

* * *

The cab was warm and comfortable after the chill of the evening. As it moved through the city, Garak watched the lights pass by. Next to him, Julian was humming to himself, a simple song, a repeating motif, fidgeting a little in his seat. _He's really quite excited. I wish I was._

 _One last attempt -_ "Are you sure I can't talk you into coffee and a movie instead?"

Julian smiled. "Yes, very sure."

 _Bah._ Garak pursed his lips. "Why dancing?"

"Because this is what I do when I'm stressed."

 _Oh?_ Garak looked over at him; yes, it was true, there were lines of tension in his face, and the skin below his eyes did look darker than usual. _I should have noticed. Sloppy of me._ He raised his brows at Julian. "What's wrong?"

"Oh, nothing's _wrong._ It's just... life. I have three midterms in the next week, and labs 'til ten at night. I'm exhausted. I study non-stop - when I'm not serving pizza, anyway. I'm living in my head. And right now, I just need to get out of my head and into my body, and this is the best way I've found to do that. And..." He was looking out the window, but Garak thought he saw a faint hint of colour rise in his cheeks. "And I thought it might be fun to bring you – to show you something that I… do." His voice trailed off, embarrassed.

 _Well. Flattering._ Garak had a feeling that inviting him might be something Julian was regretting just a little at the moment. _Can't blame him._ Every time the two of them had gone out together, it had been to a cerebral movie, or to a book reading, or a coffee shop to discuss literature and film and art; Garak had picked, and Julian had agreed, and they’d both had fun, hadn’t they? _I thought so…_

But being with Garak was probably tied to thinking, for Julian. _Hmm. I'm not sure how I feel about that._

Well, shelve it for now; Julian didn't want to think, so tonight was not a night for big discussions. _Change the subject._

"Risa. Hmm. I think I've heard of it."

He saw Julian relax a little, _check._ "Yeah - Jadzia goes there quite a bit, I guess. We went together once."

Garak couldn't quite hide his surprise on that one. "Did you now."

"Oh, not like _that,"_ and Julian grinned at him, "just as friends."

"And did you have fun?"

Julian smiled in memory. "Jadzia has fun everywhere she goes."

Garak couldn't really speak to that. He didn't know Miss Dax particularly well, although he knew she spent quite a lot of time at Quark's when she wasn't working, and if any place lent itself to "fun," that was probably it. He had a feeling Risa wouldn't be much like Quark's, though; Quark’s leaned far more towards drinking than dancing, and it had been a long time since he’d been out for a drink anywhere but Quark’s...

 _Investigate your target, Elim._ "Julian, forgive me for asking, but I’d like more information.”

Julian looked over, expression mild. "Hmm?"

"What can I expect at this place? What are we going to do?"

Now Julian looked a bit bemused. "Well, I plan to drink a bit too much and dance like an idiot. That is what one generally does when one goes dancing." His look was just a bit questioning.

_Gah. I’m pathetic. Oh, well, play to your strengths –_

Garak sighed his most pitiable sigh. "It's been a long time since I've done anything like this. I hope you don't find me too sadly out of practice." _Poor me, so very lost; don’t you want to teach me?_

"Oh, I think I'll loosen you up easily enough, Garak." Julian’s answering tone was almost flippant, not at all what Garak had expected. _What? Are you -_

Garak looked curiously at him, but Julian was already looking back out the window, and he'd started humming to himself again, that same repeating motif; in his mind, he was already dancing.

* * *

They waited in line, shivering a little, puffing big misty breaths as snowflakes whirled down and landed on their hair, their shoulders, their hands. Garak tucked his hands into his coat pockets and was glad for his gloves; Julian wrapped his arms around himself and hid his hands in his underarms. He was hopping up and down to stay warm, smiling - grinning, really - eyes wide, and Garak looked sideways at him and wanted to grin too. He kept his expression neutral, but it was more difficult than usual; admittedly, Julian did have that effect on him. _It doesn’t seem fair that one person can be so maddeningly clever and so infuriatingly sweet at the same time…_

As if he felt Garak's gaze, Julian looked over; that lovely grin faded to something smaller, something Julian apparently felt was more Garak-appropriate. _Oh, too bad..._

"Almost there now. Cover's on me."

Garak quirked an eyebrow. "Julian, you're a student. I can pay."

Julian shook his head, mouth firm. "Nope. I invited you. I pay. That's how it works, right?" That smile widened just a little, and Julian tilted his head; with a sigh, Garak acquiesced. _Whatever you want, Julian, as always..._

The line of people waiting to get into the club stretched back down the sidewalk, around the corner; it was moving fairly quickly, thank God, but they'd still been kept waiting just long enough to be properly appreciative of the opportunity to get into Risa. Garak was amused at the psychology of it; he had to admit it was effective.

He looked around him at the other people waiting to get in. They were mostly Julian's age or thereabouts, dressed lightly, chatting back and forth; the mood was happy, excited, and very, very young. Garak took stock of himself, quickly: older, dressed more conservatively (although, he flattered himself, more stylishly too), not smoking, and not drenched in overly forceful cologne. _I don't quite fit in. Poor performance, Elim. Hmm, perhaps I should have taken a leaf from Julian’s book -_

He darted a glance at Julian, caught his eyes, realized that Julian had been stealing a glance at him, too. _Ah!_ He kept his eyes on Julian, smiled; again, a hint of colour tinted Julian's cheeks, but he didn't look away.

"I'm - I'm looking forward to this." There was a little stammer in Julian's voice, but his gaze was steady.

"I know. I've been watching you. You're already dancing." Garak smiled easily, lightly; he hopped in place a couple of times, mimicking Julian. Julian's grin flashed again, a marvelous reward, and Garak's stomach did the most embarrassing little flip. _Besotted, I am besotted -_

The line lurched forward again, thank God, and they moved with it, stopped at the bouncer, a big, vaguely Klingon-looking fellow, who looked them up and down.

His voice was a booming basso profundo. "ID."

Julian pulled his wallet out of his jeans, and Garak moved a hand to his coat pocket -

"Just his. Not yours." _Ah._ Garak nodded ironic acknowledgement.

Julian proffered his ID for inspection; the bouncer took it, looked at it closely, frowned.

"What's your sign?"

Mild exasperation washed over Julian. "I'm a Leo."

The bouncer grunted, handed back the card. "Go on in."

Julian shoved ID into wallet and wallet into pocket with perhaps more forcefulness than was strictly required as they headed into the entranceway. His shoulders were hunched.

"Everything all right, Julian?"

"Oh, yeah, fine; I just always get carded, and they always think it’s fake. I _hate_ that." His tone was irritated, and just a little embarrassed.

Garak chuckled. "You'll miss it one day."

"That day can't come soon enough." Julian's voice was filled with fervour. _I remember feeling that way, once upon a time._ Hmm. It had been a while ago, actually, that he'd thought that, quite a while...

He kept his tone carefully light. “Oh, believe me, it will. Nobody’s needed to see my ID for years, and you can’t be that much younger than I am…” He left a little silence there, waiting for Julian to fill it.

Julian's gaze slid over him, amused. "Does my age really matter, Garak?"

_Oh, dear. Caught red-handed._

"Oh, no, not at all," and he waved a hand, embarrassed at how transparent he'd been; really, that had been _clumsy_.

"If you're concerned about my being old enough to drink," and Julian leaned in, looked from side to side, "please rest assured, my ID _is_ real..."

The young man was _laughing_ at him. Garak nursed his wounded dignity and followed Julian further into the club, up a little set of stairs, past a smiling young woman who took Julian's money and stamped their hands (a little smiley face, _really?_ ), more stairs, up and up and _in -_

\- to a dark room, _loud_ , big and echoing and exploding with sound, a bass beat throbbing, voices shouting, the clink of glasses and the smell of stale beer and sweat and cologne and the feeling of excitement mixed with apprehension mixed with adrenaline -

_Oh, my God, I haven't done this in a long, long time..._

Within seconds, he'd been bumped into by three different people; he was washed over by noise, by sight, by the pounding bass; lights flickered and flashed, colours changing, and he was completely disoriented. He pulled into himself, planted his feet, eyes flickering across the crowd. _I am in an unfamiliar place. Well, that's nothing new._

Julian had turned back to him, grin impossibly wide now, eyes to match. "You okay, Garak?" He was shouting, and Garak could still barely hear him.

"Fine, fine, it's just - "

"I _know_ , isn't it _great?"_ And Julian spun, arms wide, scanned the room, pointed - "Look, there's Rijal, _hey, Rijal!"_

Amid the dancers, a young woman turned her head, eyes wide. Julian waved, laughed; the woman grinned and waved back. She shouted something to her friends, then dropped her head in determination and plowed through the crowd, scattering dancers as she went; she bounced up to Julian and threw her arms around him, earring flashing, all elbows and hips and short spiky hair. She reminded Garak a bit of Kira, from the pizza place, give or take, _mmm, ten years?_

Julian hugged her back, laughing; she pushed back from him and studied his face. “Well, _that_ is someone who’s wound a little too tight.”

“Guilty as charged.”

“We’ll fix that, you have my personal guarantee.” She grinned, and they bumped fists, and Garak watched in amazement as his gentle Julian changed before his eyes into someone brash and loud, throwing back his head and laughing. _Wait, what -_

“Come on, boy, I’m thirsty.” She grabbed Julian’s hand; Julian stopped her before she could tow him away.

“Hold on, Rijal – I brought a friend.” He indicated Garak; Garak nodded a ‘hello.’

Rijal’s smile changed just a little, from open welcome to welcome-with-mild-confusion. “Uh, hi, Mister…”

“Oh, just Garak, please.” They shook hands, a bit awkwardly.

Julian was bouncing on his toes, happy to see his friends meeting. “Rijal is in the nursing program, so we cross paths quite a bit.”

Rijal slanted a look at Julian. “Med students are all insane workaholics. I’ve put myself in charge of keeping this one in touch with reality.”

“Oh, it’s a hell of a job, isn’t it?” Julian laughed; Rijal grinned and pretended to punch him, and Garak watched them giggling. _This is… strange. Not bad, I think. But strange._

Rijal stepped back, assumed a pleading expression. “Julian, your mouth has _got_ to be dry; won’t you let me get you something to drink?”

“Fuck, yes,” _what?,_ “but Rijal, first round’s on me,” and Julian dug into his wallet, pulled out a few bills and passed them to Rijal. “Garak, give me your coat, I’ll go check it.”

Cognitive dissonance – give up his coat? But he would be out of place in it, in this sea of half-clad children – he was _already_ out of place – oh, the hell with it. He shrugged out of his jacket, reclaimed his wallet and tucked his gloves into a pocket, and passed the bundle to Julian. “Please ask them to be careful with it.”

Julian quirked a smile. “I’m sure they’ll handle it with kid gloves, Garak.” He tucked the coat up under his arm and vanished back down the stairs, and Garak was left alone with this young woman, whose smile had apparently been stashed somewhere safe, replaced with a stare that he could actually _feel._

“Hmm. Okay, Garak. Let’s go get some drinks.” She pushed back into the crowd, looking back to make sure he was coming; he followed in her wake.

She shouted over her shoulder, “So, how do you know Julian? Are you a prof, or a tutor, or…?”

A professor? She obviously thought he was a bit old for this crowd and, God, it was terribly hard to hear in all this racket – and had he actually just thought _racket? She’s right._ “I have a shop in the same plaza as his workplace.”

“Oh, the pizza thing? Hmm. So you guys met…” and she kept her eyes fixed on him, walking backwards now, and yet people were still getting out of her way, it was really quite something.

“We met over lunch.”

“And so he brought you dancing.”

“There have been a few lunches.”

Her brows rose, but she nodded and didn’t pry further, at least for now. She bumped into the bar and turned around, looked along its length until she saw the bartender, waved for attention; the bartender nodded at her, _it’ll be a minute_. She leaned her elbows on the bar, sighed, as comfortable as a fish in water. Garak watched her body language, easy and relaxed, and thought that he could see why Julian might like her. _She doesn’t worry at all about who she is. She just is._ Interesting. He himself was taut as a bowstring; he really ought to do something about that. _Well, places like this do cater to that specific need._

The bartender moved down to them, grinned at Rijal; they obviously knew each other. “Hello, darling, and what can I get for you?”

“Sweet and bubbly, please; we need to get drunk and we need to do it fast.”

“Shots?”

“Shots.”

 _Shots!_ Hmm. This was liable to be a short evening. Oh, well, he could pace himself –

Rijal held up three fingers, and the bartender nodded and ducked down, fiddling with various bottles and glasses and one of those seltzer-spraying-things. It was quite the dance, really; Garak tilted his head, admiring an artist at work. Different liquids were amalgamated in three little glasses and placed before Rijal with a flourish; she slid a bill across the bar and nodded, _keep the change._ The bill disappeared with alacrity, and the bartender grinned in acknowledgement. “Enjoy, sweetie.”

“I always do,” and Rijal laughed, and peered into her little glass with curiosity. “What is it?”

“I call it a root beer float.”

“What’s in it?”

“You don’t want to know.” A wink, and the bartender headed off down the bar to another waving customer.

Garak stared at his own drink with mild consternation; he and Rijal looked at each other, her daring, him certainly at _least_ as daring as she was –

And here was Julian, looming up behind Rijal, reaching down over her head and plucking up his own drink with precision. “Thanks, Rijal,” and he bumped the top of her head with his chin affectionately, and she really was quite small, wasn’t she? It was her personality that made her seem to tower over Garak. Hmph. Two could play at that game. And when had this become a competition? He straightened his spine anyway.

“Well, gentlemen,” and Rijal raised her little cup, “bombs away?”

An unspoken signal, and they all emptied their shot glasses, and Garak almost _gagged_ –

Julian blinked furiously, processing. “Rijal, what _was_ that?”

Rijal’s eyes were wide, her smile almost dreamy. “It was Prophets-damned _wonderful_ , is what it was.”

Garak was still speechless, the sweet bubbly stuff burning down his throat; the most he could muster was an inarticulate “Eeargh,” quite undignified.

Julian half-frowned. “Garak – are you okay?”

 _That was vile!_ “Hah… um, yes, I’m fine, but perhaps I’ll switch to something more traditional from here on.” He made himself look as apologetic as he could, while his insides roiled. “Do you suppose they have any kanar?”

Rijal’s expression went a bit flat; not surprising, really. It probably wasn’t smart to be so obviously Cardassian in front of Julian’s Bajoran friend, especially when they were so newly introduced. But this clearly wasn’t a night for being smart, was it, or else he wouldn’t be here. She smiled, not as easily this time. “Let me check.”

Negotiations with the bartender produced a bottle of what could only be described as an “accessible” kanar, made for the widest possible audience, which meant it pleased no one; didn’t matter, good enough. Garak purchased a glass for himself; Julian, after a moment, ordered one too, and swirled it before his eyes, watching curiously as it moved thickly in the glass. Rijal frowned a little, and ordered something pink that came in a bottle. She sipped it, and looked back out at the dance floor, full and raucous and no doubt terribly appealing.

“Julian, I’m gonna go dance. You coming?”

Julian looked at the dance floor too, and Garak saw something in his eyes, almost a hunger – but he looked back at Garak, and shook his head. “Maybe in a minute. You go ahead, I’ll find you.”

Rijal shrugged, and headed back into the crowd, bumping her hip against Julian as she passed; he smiled after her affectionately, and Garak was not at all jealous, because he wasn’t _twelve_ , for God’s sake. He pursed his lips, tasted his kanar; it was about as good as he’d expected.

Julian looked at him, with his glass of kanar and his disaffected pose, and tilted his head. “Here, let’s go sit down for a bit.”

“I thought you came to dance.”

“I did. I will. Let’s talk.”

“Here?” It was deafening.

“We’ll find a place. Come on.”

He followed Julian around the edge of the dance floor, dodging the gyrations of its occupants as best he could, and they made their way up a small set of stairs to a little raised area with a few tables, some uncomfortable plastic chairs, clearly not made for long-term occupancy. Away from the dance floor, away from the speakers, it was a little quieter; one could hold a conversation at something less than a full-throated yell. There were a few other couples sitting, chatting; older couples, he noted, the first people over thirty he’d seen in this place. Risa was trying to be accommodating. _How sweet._

Julian folded himself into one of the little plastic chairs, quite adorably ( _stop it_ ), and Garak placed himself neatly in the one across the table. Ah, this felt familiar: the two of them across a table again. Too bad it was so damned loud.

Bouncing gently on his chair, Julian peered into his glass of kanar with a wary expression, and Garak really could almost have snickered; instead, he allowed himself a bit of a grin, and Julian met it with one of his own. _Warm…_

Julian leaned forward, half-conspiratorially, half because otherwise he’d never be heard over the pulse of the bass. “So, what do you think of Risa?”

Bursting bubbles was impolite. “I haven’t made up my mind yet.”

Julian raised his brows, just a little; his smile turned a trifle dry. “I’m glad you’re keeping an open mind…”

“I owe you nothing less. You did come to that reading of The Never-Ending Sacrifice.”

“Yes, I did, and I expect you to remember that.” Julian’s smile was teasing, so lovely to see, and this was the Julian he’d begun to know, soft and clever and just a bit awkward. Hmm. And that was an issue that bore exploring.

“Julian…”

“Yes?”

Garak cleared his throat, spoke with impeccable diction. “’Fuck, yes’?”

Julian knew what he meant right away, looked back at him steadily. “Do you disapprove?”

“Not at all. But I admit to being somewhat surprised.”

“What, that I swear?”

Garak frowned a little. “Of course not. Everybody swears. You should hear me when I mishandle a pin.” He sipped his kanar and let Julian suppress his giggle, continued when the young man was composed. “But I’m not used to you being quite so… brash.”

Julian’s expression was calm, matter-of-fact. “That’s how I am around Rijal. That’s how I am around most of my friends.”

“But not around me.”

“No, not around you.”

“Which one is the real you?”

“Who says there’s a real me?”

Garak blinked once, tilted his head.

Julian looked away, over the crowd; he tasted his kanar, and stared into his glass, bemused. “I’ve figured out that people like me better when I act like they expect me to act. That usually means acting like them.” Another, slightly larger swig of kanar, and a half-suppressed grimace.

Garak looked at the young man, his mind racing, doing a very fast reassessment; he felt rather as if he’d been walking on thick, safe ice, which had suddenly cracked right between his feet. “Ah. Camouflage.”

Julian nodded, still looking away.

“I know a bit about that.” Garak looked into his own glass, sipped the kanar and rolled its decidedly indifferent taste around his mouth.

And now Julian was looking at him, curious, taking him in. _Yes, look at me; what do you see, what do you really see?_ Garak met his eyes, and the moment stretched, and things suddenly felt rather pleasantly fraught –

Julian blinked rapidly, opened his mouth, said, “Uhh – “

Garak smiled and took pity on him. “So, Julian, tell me what you like so much about this place.”

A little flicker of _thank you_ in Julian’s eyes, along with something else… gone before Garak could read it. “Um. I like the noise. I like the music.”

“You could listen to loud music at home.”

And Julian angled his head, his expression exasperated. “Of course I could, but that’s not the point, is it.”

“So what is the point?”

Julian’s fingers twitched, as if he was trying to grasp something he couldn’t quite see. “It’s the… It’s the people, and the moving… It’s the din, one can’t hear words, it’s the… It’s the losing myself.” _Oh._ An unexpected honesty, like a gift; Garak tilted his head in acknowledgement, and Julian looked a little shaken, and gulped kanar. _Time to distract._

“I’m not sure this is my kind of music, myself.” Garak adapted a slightly put-out expression and swirled his drink in his glass.

Julian was drawn in, as he’d hoped he’d be. “Oh? And what is your kind of music, Garak?”

“Mmm. Something more classical.”

Julian made a rude noise, and Garak looked at him, shocked; Julian was grinning, and Garak saw a flush of colour in his cheeks. _Ah, Julian, careful with that kanar…_ “And what, exactly, about classical music deserved that response?”

“The music’s fine. But ‘classical’ is a non-answer. Be specific.”

Garak pursed his lips, half-stung, half-delighted; _look at you, Julian, pressing me for answers_. “Hmph. Well, I do like Bach, and Handel… but who doesn’t, really…”

“Baroque music?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“You are certainly nosy tonight.” _Don’t stop._

“Yes, I am. Tell me why.” And Julian’s eyes were getting just a bit softer, his smile easier, and my goodness, he was lovely in the low light of the club, wasn’t he, _focus focus focus._

“Mmm. It’s the patterns. I lose myself in them,” and he glanced at Julian, and Julian nodded back, acknowledging. “Those lovely repetitions, the tonalities, the harmonies…” He gestured effusively with his glass, realized what he was doing. _Perhaps Julian’s not the only one who’s feeling his kanar._ Although that damned poisonous shot really hadn’t helped.

“Ah. Tell me more. What else do you listen to?”

“Julian, there is a great deal of baroque to listen to.”

“Come on, Garak, nobody listens to just one kind of music. What is it? Jazz? Swing? _I_ know – you’ve got a passion for disco, haven’t you. Come on, admit it,” and Julian was laughing at him, and Garak was grinning back.

“Disco indeed. My dear, how old do you think I am?”

Julian’s brows rose, and his mouth opened in curiosity, _lovely lips, lovely…_ “Well, I’m not sure, Garak; do you feel like sharing?”

“With you? Always.” His tone inviting –

Julian’s eyes were disbelieving but pleased. “All right: how old are you?”

Garak looked from side to side, checking for make-believe listeners, and beckoned him in; Julian leaned in, face wary and amused, and Garak breathed into his ear, “Julian, I am old enough to know not to disclose my age to someone who won't tell me his.”

Julian pulled away, rolling his eyes, his expression eloquent; Garak was pleased with himself, and sipped kanar in celebration. The stuff actually wasn’t all that bad, really.

“And what do you listen to, Julian?” He raised his brows, leaned forward invitingly.

Julian blinked, smiled just a little. “I think it might be easier to tell you what I don’t listen to.”

“Oh, a man of varied tastes?”

“Let’s just say I don’t like to limit myself.” Oh, delightful, and there were so many sly comments Garak could make, so many little hints – but he kept his smile light and pleasant, _softly, Elim, nothing at all until he invites it…_ This was torture, really, sweet torture, and apparently Garak was a masochist – now, how best to turn the screws a little tighter - 

“ _Oh_ – “ But apparently the song that had just started playing had met with Julian’s approval, because he practically levitated out of his seat, half-finished kanar and multi-layered conversation both forgotten. “Garak, I can tell you that I listen to _this!”_ He was already moving, bobbing his head; he grinned invitingly. “Come on, come on, I can’t let this one go by, you’ve _got_ to dance with me – “

 _Ugh, really?_ The song was something Garak had heard on the radio a few times, in a few shops, something about love being a drug; a bit insipid, really. _And we were just getting a good conversation started, too. How disappointing._

He kept his smile polite. “I think I may sit this one out, Julian. By all means, indulge yourself.” He gestured with his glass.

For just a moment, Julian’s grin faded, and Garak’s resolve wobbled –

And then Julian nodded, and swung himself down the stairs, and waded into the crowd; Garak saw his head bob along until he reached a tight knot of dancers – probably Rijal and her friends – yes, there she was for just a moment, highlighted by a passing spotlight – she and Julian laughed together, and she grabbed his hand and pulled him into the dance.

* * *

Garak sat by himself, and watched the dancers, and drank his kanar, and felt incredibly old and a bit sorry for himself. Which was ridiculous. Because if he wanted to dance, he’d be dancing. So this was fine; excellent, in fact. And who was he trying to convince? _Stupid. Self-indulgent._ He drained his glass, and stared moodily at it.

Through its kanar-rinsed translucence, he saw Julian on the dance floor, moving with entrancingly wild abandon, eyes closed, head back, living only in the moment. _Ah, youth –_ oh, for God’s sake, _really?_ Was he really so out of practice that one glass of kanar and a mystery shot could make him maudlin? Maybe it was a good thing that he’d let Julian drag him out. Perhaps he was getting too comfortable in his own little world, his shop and his small apartment. _And Julian didn’t have to twist your arm very hard to get you out of it, did he…_

Over on the dance floor, Rijal tugged on Julian’s arm, and he leaned down, his ear to her mouth; Garak saw her teasing posture and Julian’s startled movement, and they both looked at Garak for a moment, Rijal laughing, Julian radiating embarrassment. He gestured to her, _keep your voice down_ ; she wiggled her fingers at him, in some kind of no-doubt salacious gesture, and he grinned back, and this was humiliating, and Garak was under no obligation to put up with it, and what on earth was _wrong_ with him, anyway, why was he _acting_ like this?

_You're jealous, you idiot. You don't want to share._

Oh, no, that didn't make any sense. He barely knew Julian, really; a few conversations over pizza, a few trips out to movies and bookstores did not any kind of claim make, no matter how much he might wish it were so, no matter how much he might wish that Julian was still here, laughing, that smile flashing just for him -

_See? There you go again._

He rubbed his face with one hand, put down his glass and stared at it. Well, this was a funny little truth, wasn't it. Had it really been so long since he'd been in a relationship that he'd forgotten how they worked? _I'm fairly certain that I'm not entitled to claim him as exclusively mine after a few shared cups of coffee._

 _But I've just met him, I'm just getting to know him, he's my secret discovery, my little surprise, so sincere and sweet_ -

But he wasn't, was he. The slightly awkward, sweetly sincere young man Garak had thought he'd been getting to know could turn on a dime and be somebody else, _for_ somebody else, and that felt strange, odd in his mouth. He picked up Julian's half-finished glass of kanar and sipped, trying to wash that taste away. He hadn’t expected _complications_ , not from Julian -

 _Oh,_ and his mind kept working, ever the relentless interrogator, _and that's pricked your pride just a little, hasn't it, Elim._

Well, and that was true, too. Once upon a time he'd barely have had to look Julian up and down to know all about him; a few words of conversation would have pointed Garak to all of his secrets. There would certainly have been no surprises then. A little more kanar, cool in his mouth, sliding down his throat, pleasant anesthesia...

_So you're sitting here, pouting and stung, because the young man you're smitten with is dancing with someone else instead of talking with you, and you didn't see it coming._

Put in that light, it looked pathetic. Well, no beating around the bush: it _was_ pathetic. He had to admit, he was out of practice when it came to getting attached to things; life had been so much easier when everything was disposable...

So much easier. So much simpler. Almost too simple to bear, honestly; was it so wrong to want one thing for oneself, just one thing?

_But he’s not a thing, Elim. He’s a person. Grabbing on and refusing to let go is not going to work. You're too old for that, anyway, and speaking of which, he's not going to want to spend much time with a grumpy old man who just wants to sit and chat._

Mmph. That hurt. He wasn't out of practice there, at any rate; he still knew how to elicit the occasional howl of pain, even if it was just from himself. _Get up, you idiot. Go find him. Show him you’re trying - that is, if you're sufficiently anesthetized._ He held up the glass; it was empty.

Well... perhaps it wouldn't hurt to have just one more kanar, first...

With all the quiet aplomb he could muster, which frankly at this moment didn’t feel like much, he rose from the table and moved down the stairs, around the edge of the dance floor, back over to the bar. There were a few patrons who’d taken seats right there, mostly older, like himself, and wasn’t _that_ a fun thought. _I suppose I do fit best with my own kind - oh, irritating, stop it._ He perched, tucking his feet up on a little rail below the bar, and rested his elbows on the surface of the bar itself, black-painted and just a little sticky. _Delightful. They certainly understand ambiance._ He’d have to have this shirt dry-cleaned, later.

The bartender swung by, eyed him. “Another kanar?”

“Yes, please.” He slid a bill across the bar, accepted his glass with a nod, left the change where it lay. It vanished quickly. The bartender, reading his mood, left him alone.

Frowning at himself, he sipped kanar and shook his head. _I can’t believe I left my warm, safe apartment to sit at a bar by myself and sulk._ The music pounded at him, and the air smelled like sweat and beer, and he was fairly certain he did too, and he was uncomfortable, and there were too many people, and this was simply not his kind of place -  

Hmm. A strange thought, that one. _Any place used to be my kind of place. I truly am out of practice._

All right, then, just to keep one's game up: if he’d been sent here to find a way in, to make himself belong, how would he start? _Well, I’d relax, first of all_ , and he slouched his spine, just a little. _I’d move a little with the music,_ and he listened for a moment, found a thread in the beat, nodded along, let a finger tap. _And I’d look for someone to talk to,_ and he scanned the bar, the other patrons, and found that someone was watching him already, and smiling.

She nodded at him from her bar-stool perch, and he took her in: _My age, I think. Pretty. Dresses well, but not too well._ He nodded back, affably.

She leaned over to him, trying to talk without shouting, a bit futile given the ambient volume. “Can you believe the crowd?”

Garak looked around, nodded with all the empathy he could muster, _yes, we’re two lost souls, whatever are we doing here?_ “Busy place.”

She tilted her head, mouth pulling a bit to one side. “You’re not joking. Student night, do you think?”

 _Ah._ It seemed Garak wasn’t the only one feeling his years. “I’m given to understand that midterms are almost here.”

She nodded. “That explains it. God, this place is full of kids.” She sipped her wine and scanned the crowd, expression disapproving, and Garak didn't much care for it, and suddenly felt like a tremendous hypocrite.

She looked back to him, and her face changed, subtly, her expression softening. "So, what brought someone like you here tonight?" The look she gave him was almost coy. _Elim Garak, I do believe you're being flirted with._ It had certainly been a while; he was half-surprised that he could still recognize it. _Us old folks need to stick together in this crazy place, is that it? Hmm._

"I came with a friend."

"Oh? You're not with your friend now..." A sort of laugh in her voice, a hint of curiosity; she was fishing. _Oh, dear._ This wasn't a complication he needed tonight; suddenly, conversation didn't seem like such a good idea.

"Mmm, no, I'm not." He sipped kanar, swung his barstool around to face the dance floor, half hoping he'd see Julian coming towards him; no such luck.

"Why is that?"

 _Good question. I'll let you know when I have a good answer._ "He's out there, somewhere," and Garak gestured vaguely towards the dance floor and its mass of sweating, gyrating humanity. "He wanted to dance. I'll make my way out there and find him as soon as I'm... ready." Could more kanar be the answer? He swallowed another mouthful.

She caught the overtones in his statement, the suggestion that the friend he'd come with was perhaps more than a friend; he could see it in her face, in how her flirtatious air vanished almost immediately. _Poor thing. Better luck next time._ He smiled at her, semi-sympathetically, turned back to watch the dancers – _oh!_

There he was, head bobbing up out of the crowd for just a moment – Garak sat up a little straighter, peering into the mob. Was he - yes, he _was_ , he was coming over - Garak allowed himself a quiet moment of triumphant smugness -

Julian burst from the edge of the crowd, sweating and tousled and altogether lovely, and frowning, _oh, dear, this probably isn't good._ Beside Garak, the once-flirtatious woman frankly stared, looking from Garak to Julian, Julian to Garak; she too frowned, just a little. Hmm. They probably did look a bit odd together. Well, the hell with odd. Garak ignored her. _Bar full of kids indeed._

"Garak! I've looked all over for you!" Julian's tone was impatient, his hands on his hips; his face was just a bit flushed, and his voice a trifle louder than it needed to be - _have you had another drink, Julian? Hmm,_ and he reassessed quickly, _make that two..._

But Julian had been trying to find him, how marvelous - he wanted to purr. "Julian, I'm so sorry to have inconvenienced you." _You came looking for me. You missed me!_ And judging by how he was bubbling internally, that was perhaps enough kanar for now... _At least we're equally inebriated._

Julian brushed his placating words away, impatiently. "This isn't fair, Garak. I didn’t bring you here so you could sit at the bar by yourself.” He folded his arms, narrowed his eyes.

Garak set down his drink and spread his hands, penitent. “You are quite right, Julian. I do apologize.”

“Apologizing doesn’t fix anything, Garak.” _Oh, dear, he’s really quite put out._

“What would you like me to do?”

Julian’s frown lightened just a little. “Come dance with me. Come do something I like, the way I do the things you like. That’s why I brought you, so we could…” And he trailed off, hands grasping, frustrated, and ah, it was too bad they weren’t chatting somewhere on their own right now, the fun he could have with that statement –

Beside him, the woman was eavesdropping; her brows rose at this, and her posture changed subtly, disapproving. Not that this was any of her business in any way. He looked at her sidelong, expression neutral.

Julian caught the look, glanced from her to Garak, a bit puzzled, _who the hell is she?_

And Garak suddenly had a marvelous thought. _Could he, will he -_ And he flicked his brows up, smiled just a little, _shall we?_

And Julian caught that, too, and smiled back, eyes suddenly half-lidded, _all right -_  

"It’s true, my dear, you always do _all_ the things I like," and Garak rose from his barstool, letting himself purr, unwinding himself as sinuously as he knew how, and he half-bowed to Julian, inclining his head. "I fear I have been dreadfully impolite." _You want to disapprove, madam? I'll_ give _you something to disapprove of._

And Julian, marvelous, wonderful, _clever_ chameleon that he was turning out to be, smiled a remarkably suggestive smile ( _oh,_ yet another hidden talent!) and held out a hand to Garak, his long lashes almost fluttering. "You have been terribly rude, Garak. You're lucky that I'm going to give you a chance to make it up to me." He leaned in, voice dropping low. “But you’ll have to try _very_ hard…”

Garak could feel the woman's eyes burning into his back, and my goodness, he really didn't care. _Oh, my..._ He allowed himself one unbroken second to admire Julian, smile seductive, lids lowered, before he took his hand, the contact jolting up his arm, fingers interlacing, _oh it has been too long_ , and Julian ducked his head, still smiling, and pulled Garak with him into the crowd -

\- loud, louder, _loudest_ , so many people, and Garak was pushed in all directions, and the music was almost a physical presence, beating at him, and he clutched Julian's hand like a lifeline -

\- and they emerged into a little space, just big enough for the two of them, and Rijal nodded a cordial hello. Garak managed a nod back; Julian grinned. Rijal raised her brows at Julian; Julian half-shrugged, and his grin widened, impossibly, and Rijal smiled in answer, tilted her head. She looked back and forth between them for a moment, glanced at their hands, at Garak’s face, shrugged, and went back to dancing, laughing with one of her friends. _Dismissed. Thank goodness._

And this would be the time to let go of Julian's hand, wouldn't it? It would certainly be polite to give the young man his space, now that their little show was over. He loosened his grip just slightly.

Julian didn't. _Oh -_

Well, it definitely wouldn't do to be _rude_. He tightened his grip again, luxuriating in the warmth of Julian's hand, the slight sheen of sweat on his palm, their fingers laced together – _careful,_ _Elim, he is not a Cardassian, this doesn't mean to him what it means to you_ -

Oh, but it was nice, it was _nice,_ and what the hell, wasn't he allowed some nice every now and then?

He smiled up at Julian, and Julian looked into his eyes, and down at their hands, and suddenly flushed, almost a delayed reaction. _Hmm. Interesting. You didn't blush a minute ago. Why are you blushing now?_ He wanted to ask, to discover, to peel away the layers, _oh, God, do I -_

But it was too loud here to make any pretense of normal conversation. And Julian still hadn't let go of his hand. And now Julian was starting to smile, and was still looking at him, and if this was what people did when they weren't talking, Garak was willing to try being quiet for a while.

Julian squeezed his hand for just a moment, and smiled into his eyes, and tugged gently at his arm, _come on, dance with me -_

_Oh, what the hell..._

Garak let himself go, let his body move, let the music in as best he could - it wasn't his music, he didn't know it, he had no connection to it, but it was loud and intense and he could see that Julian loved it, was letting it move him on its own, blissfully, without care or concern for how he might look, and didn't he look lovely, wasn't it something to see him bend and twist, to see his arms flash out, his legs so long, his whole beautiful body in motion, and here Garak was permitted to look, to drink him in, to delight in him, _really,_ _there may be something to this dancing thing after all -_

He was tipsy and dizzy, watching Julian move, letting himself move with him, and they were still holding hands, just lightly, maintaining just the slightest connection, and how funny that Garak's most intense sensory impression, in this sea of noise and colour, was that barely-noticeable touch –

Rijal was watching them, her expression curious, and Garak wondered what she might be thinking – but who had time to wonder, who could think of anything else when there was Julian, _Julian_ -

Who was frowning just a little, and who was moving slowly now, his focus broken; he was looking around; was he waiting for something? Garak frowned too, wanting to fix whatever was wrong, to bring back that blissful smile -

And a spill of sparkling notes trickled down his spine, made him stretch and straighten; he looked up at the speakers, his mouth now frankly gaping; he could feel his eyes widening, _I know this song!_ And he turned to Julian, delighted, even though he knew that his expression was probably quite ridiculous -

But it didn't matter, because Julian was grinning back at him, just as foolishly, delighted with Garak's delight, and that air of watchful waiting was gone, he'd been waiting for _this_ -

_Does he know this song? Is he old enough to know this song?_

Well, "Friday I'm In Love" was practically a universal favourite, surely, but it did seem odd that Julian would be particularly excited to hear it; it certainly didn't match what had been playing before -

And now Garak really _did_ grin like an idiot, because Julian had _requested_ it, hadn't he, which meant that either he was a big fan of early nineties pop-rock (not impossible), or else -

_How did he know, how did he know - did he request it for me?_

Either way, he could work with it - but for now, let's pretend, let's -

 _Oh, let's,_ and Garak lost himself in the sound, and the warmth, and the touch, and the delight.

* * *

Things got a bit hazy after that. There were more songs, a whole slew of them that Garak recognized; the DJ at Risa seemed to know what he or she was doing, and managed to mix older with newer skillfully, pulling some of the older crowd in to dance along with the younger patrons. At some point, a young woman wove her way through the crowd with trays of shots, their varied colours dangerously appealing. Garak yielded to temptation, and bought himself and Julian something blue that was quite startling; Julian laughed, and blinked, and shook his head at the aftertaste, and Garak grinned, and bought six more, treating Rijal and her friends as well. They clinked the little glasses together, and laughed, and toasted quite inaudibly, and it was very silly and very fun, and alcohol was a marvelous social lubricant, wasn't it, and oh, so was limerence -

And Julian was so beautiful as he smiled, and laughed, and danced, getting wobblier and tipsier, and through it all he kept that light hold on Garak's hand, barely noticeable unless you were looking for it - _I didn't even know I_ was _looking for it_ -

And Garak felt the grip loosen and twist; he reached out, catching Julian just as he was falling, steadying him on his feet. He looked closely at Julian's face. _That's enough dancing for now, I think, and certainly enough drinking..._ Julian was sweating, eyes wide, smile wider; he was swaying just a little where he stood, and it wasn't entirely because of the music.

"Come on, Julian," and Garak leaned over, almost shouting into his ear, "come on, let's go sit down - "

"Oh, Garak, really," and Julian was definitely drunk, "come _on_ , I'm having _fun -_ "

Rijal, beside Garak, came to his rescue. She took Julian's other arm, tugged him gently towards the edge of the crowd. "Come on, Julian, easy does it - "

Between them, they half-walked, half-carried Julian back to the little seating area, to an unoccupied table, and plunked him down into one of the horrible little plastic chairs; immediately, he folded over at the middle, resting his head on the tabletop, smiling happily. Garak looked down at him in slight dismay.

Rijal shook her head, mildly exasperated. "I'll get him some water. You stay with him, okay? Make sure he doesn't wander off and injure himself." Garak looked up at her and nodded his thanks; she looked at him for a moment, and smiled a small smile before trotting off down the stairs. _How is she still moving like that?_ Her energy seemed inexhaustible, quite unlike his own; truth be told, he could really use the rest.

Garak let himself collapse into the chair adjacent to Julian's. He stuck his legs out in front of him, under the table, and pondered for a moment how interesting it felt to be this drunk in public. Thank God he hadn't had any more of those blue things, or he might be the one splayed out on the table.

He rested his elbows on the table (ugh, sticky, his poor shirt would never be the same), and his chin on his fists, and looked down at Julian, smiling with undisguised affection. The young man's face was a study in lazy pleasure, in half-stunned happiness; his eyes weren't quite focussed, his fingers tapped lightly on the table, his smile was still wide. All told, he was really quite adorable, and Garak let himself enjoy the sight without censure. _No one is watching; let me have this…_

Julian's gaze wandered over him, suddenly sharpened; ah, flattering - it seemed Julian still considered him worthy of attention, although apparently not quite worthy of raising his head. He smiled down at Julian, and Julian smiled back, and oh, Garak was warm...

He leaned down and murmured, conspiratorially, "Are you in your body, Julian?"

Julian's voice was soft. "Oh, yes..."

"Good." Garak was content, his world at peace.

He watched idly, with slight, pleased curiosity, as one of Julian's long-fingered hands moved softly across the table, slid to Garak's sleeve, his arm -

And Julian suddenly sat up, much faster than anyone in his condition had any right to, catching Garak by surprise and _kissing_ him, his lips warm against Garak's, tentative at first, then urgent, his eyes closing, and his mouth tasted like sweet drinks and kanar and _very bad ideas -_

Garak jerked back, his hands spasming in air, and Julian almost fell out of his chair; Garak caught him as he tumbled, hands on his shoulders, not sure where was all right to touch, not sure what was happening -

Julian steadied himself, looked at Garak in surprise, in confusion. "What's wrong?"

And Garak was almost shaking, his body roiling with shock and pleasure and arousal, and this was _not appropriate,_ not at _all,_ and he managed to stammer, "Julian, _don't._ " _Dear God, get ahold of yourself, what are you_ doing _?_

"But - " And he was reaching out with one of those lovely hands, fingers grasping, "but you want me to, don't you?"

 _Oh, not fair, not fair;_ he wanted to wail, to beseech the heavens. Instead, he caught Julian's hand, held it firmly for a moment, placed it back on the table. "Of _course_ I want you to, but - " And he gestured at the two of them, at their general state of rumpled debauchery, "not like _this._ "

Julian's brow furrowed, most enchantingly - _nngh, Elim, you idiot, stop it!_ "Like this? What's wrong with this?"

Garak rubbed his face, and peered over his fingertips at Julian. "Julian, you are drunk." _And so am I, and I am not thinking clearly enough to be asked to handle this!_

Julian's face relaxed into a half-grin, dangerously entrancing. "Oh, yes, terribly."

 _Aaargh._ This had to be some kind of cosmic test. _And no one will ever know just how stalwart I am being in the face of temptation._ "No, my dear, I am afraid that this is not going to happen - "

Julian was still smiling, and now there was a glint of something in his eye, something Garak had seen back at the bar, back when they'd put on their little show -

"And when did we agree that you get to make all the decisions?" And he was leaning in, his mouth open just slightly, and the moment hung there, suspended -

And a hand descended on Julian's shoulder, firmly, pulling him back into his chair, _oh, thank God_ ; a glass of ice water was plunked down in front of Julian, unceremoniously, and Rijal was frowning at both of them.

"I brought water."

"I see that." Garak looked at her, tried to communicate _thanks_ with his eyes; judging by her lowered eyebrows, he hadn't quite succeeded. _I hope she doesn't think_ -

But her frown wasn't severe or angry; if anything, it was tolerantly amused. _Oh, God, she thinks I’m funny? I think I would have preferred severe or angry._ She looked at Julian, and her mouth quirked; Julian looked back at her, tilted his head to one side, and grinned unrepentantly. Rijal chuckled, and patted Julian's shoulder.

"Drink up, boy, or you're gonna hurt tomorrow."

"Oh, Rijal, I'm going to hurt tomorrow no matter what." He drank anyway, quickly downing the whole glass and wiping his mouth with the back of his hand; he slid the glass across the table, and flopped back in his chair, arms hanging loose. Rijal ruffled his hair and smiled affectionately. Garak watched them together, and worked very hard at not minding, because it was excellent practice, and because he needed to get better at this very damned quickly, and because he had a sneaking suspicion that in Rijal, he and Julian had found their first… _ally?_

And he really needed to work harder at choosing metaphors for whatever this was, if the best analogy he could come up with was _war._

Never mind; Julian was slumping, eyes closing, as if sitting down had sapped him of all energy, and his own inertia was pulling him to the floor. With visible effort, he rubbed his face with a heavy hand, then shook his head as if to wake himself up. Garak watched him, amused. _Drunker than we thought we were, yes?_

Rijal had apparently come to the same conclusion, for she leaned in close to Julian, their noses just centimetres apart; with no small amount of effort, Julian managed to look into her eyes. She shook him once, lightly. “Julian. I think you need to go home.”

Julian frowned a little, and peered around Rijal at Garak. “She says I need to go home.”

Garak nodded, his face placid. “I would listen to her.”

Julian sighed. “I always do.” At this, Rijal’s brows rose; she chose not to debate the issue, however, and instead began the slightly cumbersome process of levering Julian up out of his chair. Garak sprang up to help her, very nearly overbalancing; he caught himself quickly, reassessed, moved a little more slowly as he took Julian’s arm. Together they lifted him, stood him up; he balanced well enough on his own two feet, although he was definitely starting to lean.

Rijal looked him up and down. “Can you make it to the door on your own, Julian?”

“I’m _fine –_ “ And as he spoke, he stumbled, and Garak caught his arm. Julian looked at him, almost apologetically; Garak smiled at him, shrugged a little, _what can one do?_

He looked at Rijal, whose face was a mixture of amusement and concern. “I’ll get him home safely, I promise.”

The amusement dropped away; the concern shaded to neutrality. “You will, huh? Garak, he’s really drunk.”

“I know.”

Rijal nodded, looked at him calmly. “So do I.”

 _Oh, well done_. The warning was clear: if Garak so much as touched Julian while he was in this condition, Rijal would personally see to it that retribution was exacted. _We understand each other better than you think, my dear…_ He could get to like this girl, he _really_ could.

He nodded at her, as formally as he could in his present condition, acknowledging her message. She tilted her head, stared at him a moment longer, then extended a hand.

“It was a pleasure to meet you, Garak.”

“Likewise, Rijal.” They shook hands, and Garak was almost foolishly exuberant. _My first toehold in Julian’s world, established! I have stormed the beach!_ Oh, God, war again, he really _was_ drunk, and it was time to get out of here before he made an even bigger idiot of himself than he already had.

Rijal waved them off and vanished back into the crowd of dancers, and Garak turned to Julian, and gestured towards the exit.

“Shall we, my dear?”

Julian’s smile was lopsided. “Lay on, Macduff.”

* * *

Garak poured Julian into the back seat of the cab, and slid in after him, scooting himself across the leather seats; he pulled the door shut behind him, and leaned forward. “521 Denorios Avenue, please.”

The driver nodded, and turned up his radio, tuning them out. _Bolian music? Ugh._ It seemed the evening’s aural assault wasn’t quite over. Garak sighed, and resolved to make the best of it –

And Julian sighed a different kind of sigh, and toppled over sideways, his head landing in Garak’s lap, and Garak was immediately and completely distracted.

“Julian, what – sit up.”

“Can’t.” And Julian shook his head, lips pressed together, the picture of firm resolve.

“What do you mean, ‘can’t’?”

“Far too drunk, Garak. Don’t be so inhospitable.” And he wriggled himself around, maddeningly, until he was lying on his back, looking up at Garak, and this situation was really quite untenable.

Garak blinked, and sighed impatiently, and looked away, and tried desperately to think of something, _anything_ other than the fact of pretty-young-man-in-his-lap, because if he didn’t, Julian was soon going to be presented with irrefutable evidence of how lovely Garak found him, of how much he wanted to –

\- open the window, he wanted to _open the window –_

He toggled the switch, sliding the glass down as far as it would go, letting cold air stream in, certainly the first time he’d ever done that, but it was definitely starting to feel a bit warm in here, and he really, really needed to cool _down -_

Julian frowned, and shivered enchantingly, _oh, God_ , and curled his legs up against himself. “Don’t you find that a bit cold, Garak?”

“It’s perfect.” Garak’s tone was flat.

Julian looked up at him for a moment, assessing, then closed his eyes and snuggled in a little further, and Garak mentally flipped through his projects for Saturday, that dress, those pants with the torn pocket, that thing to hem, _this isn’t working –_

“That was fun, wasn’t it.” Julian was smiling, his voice soft and dreamy.

Garak seized the conversational opening like a drowning man thrown a life ring. _Talking I can do, talking works –_

“Yes, it was,” and to his own surprise, he wasn’t lying.

“I’m glad you came with me.” Julian’s eyes were warm in the half-light of the cab; he smiled up at Garak, and one of his hands wandered up to Garak’s coat, toyed with a button.

 _More talking, keep him talking -_ “Mmm. Do tell.”

“Well, I’ve learned so much about you tonight, Garak; you’re practically an open book to me now,” and Julian was teasing him, his gaze sharp, and Garak was briefly suspicious – _how drunk are you, anyway?_

“Such as?”

“That you know all the words to ‘How Soon Is Now’.”

“Surely understandable. It’s an excellent song.”

“And to ‘Wake Me Up Before You Go-Go’.”

Garak sighed; one of his hands slid to Julian’s head, patted it, wound into its curls, _oh, why not_. “And that, my dear, you will never reveal to anyone.”

“On pain of…?” Julian’s voice was laughing, tipsy and pleased; he poked Garak’s chest with a long finger, and Garak caught his hand, held it lightly, _still much too drunk, alas…_

“On pain of my making public your quite impressive rendition of ‘Rock Me Amadeus’.”

“You _wouldn’t.”_

“I _would.”_ Garak smiled as menacingly as he could, given his current situation, pinned gently to the back seat of a moving cab by a beautiful young man that he _couldn’t do anything with_ –

 _Distract, distract –_ “How do you even know that song, Julian? I’d wager it’s older than you are.” Hm. Yes, that was indeed distracting. He had a brief moment of cognitive dissonance – _is this all right, to be here with him, like this?_

“I like the oldies,” and Julian grinned up at him, teasing, and Garak’s look was pained, and inside his chest his heart thumped, _it’s as all right as he wants it to be, and his head is in your lap, Elim Garak, so I’d say there’s a very slight chance that he wants it to be…_

And wait, there was another mystery to clear up, wasn’t there. “Do you know, Julian, I was quite surprised that Risa played any ‘oldies’ at all.” He left the statement there, closed his eyes and angled his face into the cool breeze from the window.

“Really, Garak? I don’t think you were all _that_ surprised.” The young man’s voice was light, and just a little bit smug, _check, he_ did _request it for me, oh, lovely…_ But how had he known? Garak didn’t exactly wear his musical predilections on his sleeve.

“Perhaps I should say I was surprised that they played a song I knew so well.” He slitted his eyes open, looked down at Julian.

“Ah? Must be your lucky night.” And now Julian was positively radiating smug, and Garak was terribly conflicted – _do I pry? Do I ask? How very obvious…_

“I suppose it must be.” He looked out the window again. _I am not going to dance for your amusement, Julian. I’ve done quite enough of that tonight, I think._

Julian shifted, just a little, and Garak glanced down at him; he was opening his eyes, smug shading into mild disappointment – _oh, you were so hoping I’d ask!_ It was positively adorable. Garak feigned palpable disinterest as well as he could, given the circumstances.

“I saw you - at the shop - that’s how I knew.” His voice was eager, words just a little slurred as they tumbled over each other.

“Hmm?” Garak kept his tone neutral; inside, he was delighted.

“Remember… remember a few weeks ago? Remember the day Jadzia took over the stereo?”

Garak blinked, thought back. Ah, yes, the opera rebellion. It had seemed rather unfriendly to business to blare Klingon opera during lunch hour. Nothing against Klingons, of course; they were lovely folk, depending how one defined lovely, but my goodness, they were loud. Garak had regretted ordering his lunch to eat in, had contemplated asking for a take-out box – and then Miss Dax had thrown up her hands and stormed into the kitchen. He’d heard shouting, a slammed door, and suddenly the music had stopped; there’d been static, and then the local oldies station had come over the speakers, at a considerably reduced volume. It had been Nineties at Noon, if he recalled correctly…

“Yes, I remember.”

“I saw you - when this song came on, I saw you. You were tapping your feet.”

 _Oh, well done, Julian!_ And how embarrassing at the same time, what an obvious tell. He was getting sloppy.

_Elim. What does it matter?_

It didn’t matter, not really, nobody was watching him anymore – at least, he’d thought nobody was watching him –

“I didn’t know you saw me.”

“I was in the back. But I – I had to put an order up through the window, and I saw - ” Oh, and there was that lovely trace of heat in Julian’s face, despite the cool night air, that little blush that signalled such sweetness. _I think. If it’s not all some kind of game._

Well, there were games and games, and Garak wasn’t certain he wanted to delve into the Truth Behind Julian Bashir tonight, especially when the young man was choosing to be so charming, so engaging, and especially when the only claim Garak really had on him was occasional coffee-partner. _It’s not at all my business. Let him be who he needs to be._ He looked down at him, smiled quietly, tilted his head in acknowledgement of the little confession. “You are too kind.”

“Mmmm,” and Julian stretched his legs out, pushed his feet against the opposite door, suddenly restless. “Garak, do you want to go get some coffee?” He smiled up, drunkenly, imploring.

The idea appealed, but the cab’s dashboard clock was flashing 1:48, and assuming that was anywhere close to correct, coffee was a poor idea. Besides, Julian really wasn’t in any condition to go anywhere but his apartment. “No. I want to get you home to bed.” He squeezed Julian’s hand, lightly.

“Do you really.” Suddenly, Julian’s smile had an entirely different air. _Oh, not again, I’m only human, for God’s sake –_

“Stop it, Julian.” Garak’s expression was calm and neutral; he was quite proud of himself, really, _I am an_ idiot _, I am a_ fool _-_

Julian sighed, and his fingers moved across Garak’s coat, slid along one of its buttoned flaps, tugging lightly. “But I’m brave enough right now, though…”

Garak’s brows rose slightly. _Am I that frightening?_

Julian was still talking, his hand now waving vaguely as he tried to express himself. “And I feel so good right now, I feel adventurous, I feel _experimental – ”_

And Garak’s stomach dropped, heavy as lead. _I am not your experiment, Julian –_

But Julian was _still_ talking, _does he even remember I’m here?_ “No, stupid, that’s _not right_ , damn it, I can’t think straight, _sorry_ , Garak, of course you’re not an experiment, you’re marvelous, you’re lovely – “

And now he felt light as air, as happiness bloomed within him; really, he was getting rather dizzy from these ups and downs.

“ – but I needed to know, we keep going out and I have fun, and I like you, and I like being with you, and I like me when I’m with you, and I just - _kissed_ you, God, I’m sorry, but I just needed to know – “

And if he heard any more, he might very possibly implode in a swirl of conflicting emotions, so he smiled down at Julian, shook his head, _enough_. “Julian, please don’t apologize. Please don’t even think of apologizing. Let’s just… not talk about it right now, hmm?” _Far too dangerous a topic._

Julian blinked up at him, puzzled. “But… don’t you want to know what I found out?”

 _Desperately..._ “I think, Julian, that I will ask you tomorrow.”

Julian’s brow wrinkled, and honestly, if this kept up he was going to melt into his seat. _I didn’t know I could still make endorphins. Turns out I’m rather good at it. Perhaps I’ve been saving them up._ “Oh, but I could - we could – “

Garak stopped him with a firm squeeze of his hand, frowned down at him. “Julian, it is a moot point. You are drunk, and therefore, you are completely, without exception, off-limits.” _Though it kills me. Which it might._

A quiet moment, broken by Julian’s mournful half-wail, “Oh, _damn_ it, Garak, the one time I _want_ you to be a creep – “

A laugh burst from him, unexpected, and his frown melted entirely; he couldn’t help but smile down at Julian, at his face, so sweet, his eyes screwed up in frustration. “A ‘creep’? Really?”

“Well, you know,” and Julian was gesturing again, pictures in the air, “older man, younger student, everybody says – “

“Do they.” Well, it wasn’t a surprise, was it. In a way, it was comforting to have it confirmed. _If I tell myself that enough times, perhaps I’ll believe it._

“Oh, no – “ And Julian pushed himself upright, back to his side of the cab ( _oh, damn – no, wait – hooray?_ ), and stared at Garak, angry at himself. “That’s not how I meant it, I don’t think that – it’s just – you’re such a _nice_ _person_ , and it makes me so _irritated_ – “

 _Oh, Julian. I am not a nice person._ But to have Julian think that he was… well, that was probably as close to redemption as he was ever going to get, wasn’t it. _Which makes it worth preserving. And I can hide with the best of them, after all…_

He tilted his head, smiled at Julian. “I understand. Don’t worry.”

Julian puffed his cheeks, blew out a breath. “You’re sure?”

“Quite sure.”

“Good. In that case – “

And he leaned over, and rested his head on Garak’s shoulder, and sighed a tiny, drunken sigh, and Garak looked out the window and gripped the seat, _oh, Julian, I am not at all a nice person, I really am not,_ and would this damned wonderful awful torturous cab ride _ever end?_

* * *

“Up, up, one more set of stairs, all right, here we go – “

Garak tugged Julian along, down the hall towards Julian’s apartment; the young man was drooping, limbs heavy, almost stumbling as he walked. It seemed as if Garak and Rijal had gotten him out of Risa just in time; he definitely needed to be horizontal, the sooner the better. _Which is what I’ve said all along. Oh, God, I give up –_

“Here we are,” and he leaned Julian up against the door frame. “Keys?” He held out a hand. Julian fumbled in his pocket, pulled out a key chain: three keys, a metal tchotchke with VISIT TRILL emblazoned on it in red, and a little plastic Starfleet Medical Class of ’14 tag, blue and white. Garak looked at it. The keys all looked the same.

“Which one?”

Julian peered at them, squinting. “Umm…”

“Never mind.” Garak tried them, one at a time; he lucked out on the second try, and let them in.

Julian slid his hand up the wall, flipped the lightswitch, and his little apartment was partly illuminated. Garak glanced around, taking it in: messy (unsurprisingly) but not dirty, books here and there, a tennis racquet leaning in a corner, two pairs of shoes at the entryway (one pair of black dress shoes, one pair of… orange thong flip flops?), a little couch in the corner with a battered laptop perched on an armrest, a shabby bookcase (oh, lovely!) absolutely crammed with books (even better!) and on the top shelf, a… _A teddy bear?_

Never mind for now; he had more important things to deal with, like the floppy young man he was trying to get squared away. “All right, come on, where’s your bedroom?”

Julian smiled, slid him a look.

“ _No_ , Julian, _please_ stop it.” He was so tired, and his control was slipping, just a little, and a bit of his frustration must have shown through, because Julian blinked, looked apologetic.

“Um… this way.” He pointed down a little hallway, and Garak helped him along, Julian’s arm resting on his shoulder; he bumped the bedroom door open with his hip, and Julian toggled this lightswitch too. A little bedroom, more books, phone charger, binders on the floor, scattered pens – Garak negotiated the maze of mess and let Julian drop gently to his bed, _a double, roomy enough for two, God, I want to get home…_ He was tired and more than half-drunk, and his defenses were low, and Julian just wasn’t safe to be with right now – a point which he proved as he rolled on to his back and stretched, his long body hanging off his bed; he finagled his shoes off with clever feet, wriggled out of his jacket, and lay there in his clothes, already half-asleep, blinking lazily. Garak looked, and wanted, and rubbed his eyes.

“You need water. And something for your head.”

“My head is fine…”

“Your head is fine _now._ Your head is not going to be fine in about, mmm, seven hours.”

Julian nodded acquiescence, eyes closed. “Um, medicine cabinet is in the bathroom, behind the mirror.”

Garak ducked around the corner, found the small bathroom, clean (thank goodness) and bare-bones, nothing on the countertop but a purple toothbrush and a large jug of unscented hand soap. _Uck._ Well, he wasn’t there to pass judgement on the amenities. He pried open the mirrored cabinet, found a few small bottles of medication – “Will Tylenol do?”

Julian’s groggy voice drifted back to him. “No, no acetaminophen, I’ve had too much to drink… um… any ibuprofen?”

Um, yes, there was. “Yes – “

“That, then, and something to eat, please, Garak…?”

Safe where Julian couldn’t see, Garak rolled his eyes. He tucked the ibuprofen into a pocket and made his way to the kitchen, also clean, also bare-bones; the only food in sight was a jar of peanut butter on the counter. _Not quite good enough._ He opened a cupboard –

_What?_

There was nothing in it.

He opened another, another – _they’re all empty!_

He turned to the fridge, outdated and avocado and humming loudly, and peered inside. A half-loaf of bread. A carton of milk. A few loose cans of pop, of beer, a sad-looking apple –

Dare he brave the freezer? He pulled it open, just a little, and was confronted with a desolation of frozen meals; he shut it decisively. “Julian, you have _no food._ What do you _eat?”_

“A lot of pizza…” _No doubt._ Garak made a mental note: _woo this man with food, whenever possible._

He settled on a piece of bread, confirmed mold-free and spread with peanut butter, and a glass of water, and toted his offerings back to the bedroom.

“Here. Eat. Drink. Take.”

His varied gifts were all consumed quickly; Julian finished with one tablet of ibuprofen – no, make that two, shaken out into his palm and popped into his mouth, washed down with a grimace and a swig of water. He held the bottle out in Garak’s direction, eyes half-closed. “You take some too.”

Garak frowned, waved a hand. “Julian, I am certain I’ll be – “

“Garak.” And Julian’s eyes opened, and his gaze was very nearly clear. “You’ve had at least as much to drink as I have. You’re drunk, even though you think you’re hiding it. And tomorrow you will hurt just as much as I will. More, probably, because you’re older than I am. So _you take some too.”_

Garak blinked, mouth open, then inclined his head in a mock-bow. “ _Yes_ , Dr. Bashir…”

Julian frowned at him, lay back and closed his eyes. “God, I’m so tired…”

“I’ll let myself out.” But perhaps one last indulgence… he drew the sheet up over Julian, and then his quilt, soft and warm; Julian clutched at them with long fingers, sighing, nestling into his pillow, and Garak’s heart was melting, and it was really very much absolutely time to go.

“Good night, Julian.”

“Good night, Garak.” Julian slitted open an eye. “Will I see you tomorrow?”

“Are you working?”

“Ugh… yes…”

“Then perhaps I’ll drop by for a mid-afternoon snack.”

A small smile, drowsy and… promising? _Oh, I am too tired for this..._ Julian’s voice was muzzy, already half-asleep. “See you then...”

Garak nodded, and flipped the lightswitch as he bowed out of the bedroom, closing the door behind him; he returned the bottle to the bathroom cabinet, but not before swallowing two tablets as promised. _I’ll eat back at my place._ He didn’t want to think about that sad apple.

He closed the apartment door behind him, felt the lock catch, rested his head against it for a moment.

_Whew…_

His steps back down the stairs to his own apartment were measured and slow; there was a great deal to process –

_Bedeep._

He paused, smiled to himself, savoured the moment, reached for his phone and brought up the text -

**26**

_Oh._ Conflicting emotions in his chest, delight and fear, but what else could he do? He narrowed his eyes for a moment, then tapped back –

**43**

And here he was, standing in a stairwell in the middle of the night, fluorescent lights flickering weakly, grotty tile beneath his feet, staring at his phone, refusing to hope –

_Bedeep._

**fine w me**  
 **see u tomorrow :)**

No one was here. No one could see him. For a moment, he held the phone close to his chest, to his collarbone, pressing it up against his coat like a teenager, ridiculous and laughable and so very much himself –

And sighed, and tapped back, **Go to sleep, Julian.**

He waited another moment, but no response was forthcoming; just as well, really, and happiness twisted with melancholy in his chest, but as he continued down the stairs to his own apartment, as he let himself in to collapse on his own couch, he was smiling.

He plucked at his shirt, so sadly abused, and held its fabric up to his nose. It smelled like stale beer, and sweat, and Julian.

Perhaps he wouldn’t have it dry-cleaned right away.

 

 


End file.
